


Give, Sympathize, Control (Epilogue)

by Medeafic



Series: Captain Spanky Series [13]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Biting, D/s, Drugs, Knifeplay, M/M, Sado-Masochism, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach's leaving for New York, so his friends throw him a going-away party.  And Chris learns how to cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give, Sympathize, Control (Epilogue)

“You know, they _have_ clothes in New York.  You don’t need to take four of those,” Chris insists, waving at a pile of similarly-colored shirts.

“Chris, I’ve got this.  Relax.”

“Why don’t you just wear those stupid boots on the plane?  That’ll give you more space for –”

“Christopher.”  Zach takes him gently by the shoulders.  “I’ve _got_ this.  Really.  Go sit down or something.”

Chris looks at the suitcase, the window, at the knife on the nightstand.  Anywhere but Zach’s face.

“Okay,” he says, thrusting a bag of hair care stuff at Zach’s middle.  “Here.  I’ll go watch TV for a while.”

He can hear Zach’s sigh as he leaves the room, but he doesn’t look back.  Tomorrow is the day he’s been dreading.  Zach has been back and forth between LA and New York for months, but now he’s moving there.  Chris doesn’t want to think about it, so he’s pushed it to the back of his mind all week.  The fact that he was the one who encouraged it just makes it sting more, but what else could he do?

There was one incident, to which they tacitly do not refer, which cemented their agreed long-distance status.  Zach was holding him close, sucking at his neck in the Chris’s lounge room, near the bedroom door, unbuttoning his shirt.

“We could take a break,” Chris blurted.  “You could go to clubs over there.  If you wanted.”

Zach pulled back like he’d been slapped, the color leaching out of his face so fast that Chris stepped forward, thinking he was going to pass out.  “You want to break up with me?”

“No!  No, no, no.”  Chris mentally kicked himself.  “No.  I just meant – if you wanted, you could go play at your clubs in New York.”  He smiled, trying to joke it off.  “I think my mom would kill me if I broke up with you.”  He reached out to pull Zach close again, but before he could, Zach grabbed him by the shoulders, fingers digging in, and kissed Chris so hard it hurt.

“Please don’t _ever_ say something like that again,” he said after pulling his head away.  Chris could see him struggling with his self-control, and drew Zach’s face towards his, down over his neck onto his shoulder.  Zach opened his mouth reflexively and Chris felt teeth skimming over his flesh.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “It was stupid.  I didn’t mean it.  It was a stupid thing to say.”

Chris still has no idea what Zach is planning to do about it.  He’s seen him control himself, hold back from anything really rough, for a week, two weeks, even three before their big scene, but ultimately it all comes rushing out like a dam breaking.  If he’s only going to get to see Zach every month or so – well, Chris is nervous about what that might mean. 

Zach hasn’t used the knife again, although he caught Chris sitting with it one day on the bed, flicking it in and out.  Took it from him without a word, and put it back under the bed.  Chris hasn’t touched it since, but its presence is always there.

Ten minutes into channel-flicking, Zach slumps down next to him on the couch.

“I don’t have to go,” he says.

“Sure you do.  Contracts.  Legal stuff.  Blah blah blah.”

“I could throw myself down the stairs and break my arm.”

“Break your neck, you mean.”

“That wouldn’t happen.  I’m _graceful_.”

“Zach, I want you to go.  Really.  I’m just going to miss you.”  _Like crazy_.  He’s been trying to be fair to Zach and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does, because he knows it’s horrible for Zach too.  But it’s hard, really hard.

They repeat the same assurances they’ve been saying for weeks.

“It’s not forever.”

“Right.  And I can come visit you.  You can show me the best coffee places.”

“And I’ll be back here too from time to time.  I’ll need to.  Don’t want Noah and Harold to forget me.”

“They won’t forget you.”

“Don’t want you to forget me either,” Zach adds quietly.  They both sit silently for a few minutes.  Chris is trying to compose himself.

“Well, better give me something to remember you by,” he says in the end, with a wide grin, and even though they both know it’s just an act, Zach plays along, pretends it’s all okay.

“Oh, I will.  After the party.”  He smiles wickedly.  Chris feels the familiar nerves, and they are welcome.

“If you’re _finally_ done packing, we should go,” Chris says.  “We’re going to be late.”

“No, I _haven’t_ finished.  And it’s _my_ party, so I get to make a grand entrance,” Zach says airily.  Chris loves him like this.  He’s looking forward to watching him work the room at the party.

A long time ago, that Zach was the norm; it was all he saw.  Chris likes the contrast of the public Zach and the private, and even that _other_ Zach, the one Zach hides away carefully, even from Chris.  He hasn’t seen that side Zach since their scene, even though Chris occasionally tries to provoke him forth, but no.  Zach is too experienced to give in to that if he doesn’t want to.

The party is out in the suburbs, at Joe’s friends’ place again, because they have a pool and it’s been unseasonably warm.  It takes forever to drive there.

“If we leave it much later, people will think you’re not coming.  And they will leave.  And there will be no one waiting for your grand entrance.”

“Fine, I’ll finish packing in the morning,” Zach grumbles.  “Does my hair look okay?”

“Like I’ve been telling you all day, it looks ridiculous,” Chris grins.

“Shut up.  I haven’t asked _that_ many times.”  He still takes a few minutes to re-coif in the bathroom.

  
***

  
As soon as they enter the house, Zach is caught up in a whirlwind of friends, well-wishers, and even, from what Chris can see, a few guys who think they might get lucky tonight.  It’s annoying; Chris knows that his reputation among a certain part of Zach’s circle is that he’s just an experiment, Zach seeing how long he can twist the straight boy gay.  Zach has reassured him that they’re just being bitchy, although Chris can’t see how that’s supposed to comfort him.

“Come into the kitchen,” Chris eventually insists.  He pulls Zach firmly towards the other side of the room, even as Zach holds conversations and greets people.

“Hey, you,” Julia says to them when they reach the kitchen.  She’s holding hands with her boyfriend Max, who owns the house.  They’re standing over trays and trays of intricate finger food.

“Wow.”  Zach is truly impressed.  “This looks…”

“I told you,” Chris nods at Julia.

“It was worth the effort,” she agrees. 

Joe is suddenly there as well, holding his camera.  “Let me do the speech.”  He turns to Zach.  “So, guest of honor, you get to try all the _hors d’oeuvres_ before they go out, and thanks for being late so we’re all starving.  You better make a big fuss over them, because we’ve been slaving over them all day.”

“We?” Zach asks.

“Me, Julia and your crazy-looking boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I helped,” Chris says, grinning like a madman.

“ _You_ helped?  When?”

“When I allegedly went jogging this morning.  For _two and a half hours_ , Zach?  Joe and Julia came to my place to do them.”

“But – you came back all sweaty and wheezy and disgusting.”

Chris shrugs.  “I’m Method, baby.”

Zach laughs, delighted.  Joe’s camera snaps.

“Try these ones first,” Chris says.  “I made them.”  He picks up a round of black bread topped with sherbet-orange folds of smoked salmon and a dill garnish.  Everyone else tactfully turns to rummage in the fridge or look out the window as Chris holds it up to Zach’s mouth.

“Is it edible?” Zach snarks.

“Be a good boy,” Chris tells him quietly, and Zach looks startled.  “Open wide for me.”  And Chris smiles to see Zach obediently open his mouth.  “Say thank you,” he reminds Zach after he’s chewed and swallowed.  “Don’t be mean.  Or else!”  He lowers his brows in a parody of Zach’s frowny face and wags a finger at him.

Zach looks like he wants to bite into _him_ then and there, but he settles for a hard grip around Chris’s wrist.  “Thank you, Christopher,” he says.  “It was…actually very good.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised!”

Zach smiles, kisses him.  “Let me try the others now,” he suggests, sounding intrigued. 

Everyone else suddenly has somewhere to be.  Julia takes a tray of the salmon rounds with her to the other room while Max gathers promised drinks.  Joe follows them eagerly, fiddling with his camera.

  
***

  
Most of Zach’s LA friends are there, or at least turn up to say goodbye, except Karl, who’s not in the country.  He calls in, though, shouting loudly down the line.

“Are you _drunk_?” Zach asks, after Karl’s third dirty joke.

“What?  It’s seven in the morning here!”

“Actually, I think it’s more like noon.”

“Oh.  In that case, yeah, I _am_ drunk.  Solidarity, brother!”

John and his wife stop by briefly, but they have to leave too soon.  JJ comes for an hour with his family.  Zoe spends most of the late afternoon trying to tango in the crowded dance space with her boyfriend, but no one can begrudge her their skewered feet and elbowed noses when she’s _so_ beautiful and _so_ inebriated.

Zach’s _Heroes_ friends turn up too, and Chris is dazed by Sendhil’s preternaturally pretty face close-up.  “He’s kind of breathtaking,” he says to Zach in an undertone.

“I _know_ , right?” Zach says, his eyebrows emphasizing his words.  “I had to _work_ with that distraction.”  They grin at their shared appreciation.

Kristen Bell arrives with her boyfriend, who is a lot less annoying than Chris expected.  Everyone, _everyone_ talks to Zach, and he is glowing with the attention.

When he tires of the crowd, Chris escapes to the kitchen, and is pleased to see all his salmon things have been devoured.  Anton stumbles in after him, looking high and giggly.  “Fuck,” he says, looking at the empty trays.  “No more food?”  He throws down a baggie on the counter and gestures towards it.  “Want some?”

“No.  But thanks.”  Chris offers him some chips and dip, and Anton wolfs them down. 

“So, how’s it going, Captain Spanky?” Anton asks in between shoveling food.

Chris grins.  Anton’s the only one who keeps up the nickname now, although he suspects that once they’re back on set it will catch on again.

“Just fine, kiddo.  Looks like you bought yourself twenty dollars worth of munchies.”

“Thirty.  And yeah,” Anton sighs regretfully.  “He said it was good stuff, but I guess I should’ve known better.  Never trust a surfer.  That’s what my mom always said.”

“She…did?”

“She would have, if she said that kind of thing.”  He has hummus smeared across his cheek.

“Wait – surfer?”  Chris stares at Anton.  “Was he all, like, golden and beautiful but annoying at the same time?”

Anton considers.  “Yes.  Yes, he was.  Man.  I am actually really, really stoned.  Don’t try to talk to me right now, _I’ll_ just be annoying.  That’s what my mom always said.”

Joe comes in with more empty trays.  “Went down well,” he says to Chris.

“Joe, is that guy, that Adam guy – did he get invited?  Is he here?”

He frowns.  “Probably.  He usually shows up.  I never really know who asks him.”  He sees Chris’s face.  “I’ll ask him to leave.  Politely, or not so much?  Your choice.  Personally, I think there are some guys who just look a lot better with a fist in their face.  Are you laughing at me?”

“You’re – pretty different to Zach, that’s all.  And it’s okay.  I’ll handle it.”

  
***

  
Adam, when Chris finds him, is in the pool out back.  His body is all bronzed and taut in the fading sunlight, and he’s bobbing in the water smoking a joint, laughing at a joke.  Chris stands at the side of the pool for a while, watching him, before Adam sees him and grins.  He hands off the joint and swims over.

“Chris, yeah?”  He pulls himself half up out of the water to fold his arms on the poolside.  “You coming in?”

Chris shakes his head no, and Adam smiles.  “Guess you can’t.  Marks, right?  Oh, hey - _awesome_ salmon things, man.”

Chris crouches down.  “Thanks,” he says.  “I’m glad you enjoyed them.  They were Zach’s favorite too.”

“How is that boy?  Looking forward to New York, New York?”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”  The setting sun fires across his face, his lazy grin reflecting red.

“We have it sorted out.”  Chris is surprised to find that he’s not angry.  “You know what, Adam?  I would say I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you two, but it’s your loss.”

Adam flicks his wet hair out of his eyes, watching drops of water hit Chris in the face.  But Chris doesn’t even blink, just wipes them off.

“It’s like that, huh?” Adam asks.

“It’s like that.”

“You’ve seen him?  How he gets?”

“Yeah.  I have.”

They look at each other, and then Adam blinks, shrugs.  “Your funeral,” he says.

“Do me a favor?  Don’t go anywhere near him tonight.”

Adam’s face is as blank and pleasant as ever as he thinks about it.  “You owe me one,” he says eventually.  He holds out his hand, but Chris can’t bring himself to shake it.

“I’ll owe you,” he says instead.  All he feels is pity, and he’s ashamed to admit to himself that it’s pleasing.  “Enjoy the party.”

  
***

  
“I don’t want to go,” Zach groans in the car.  “Everyone loves me here.”

“They love you there as well.”

“Those salmon things really were amazing.”

“I know.”  Chris smirks.  “Now I just need to get pasta down.”

“Never gonna happen, Pine.  You need _heart_ for pasta, not just stomach.”

“Bite me.”

“That’s the plan,” Zach says lightly, trailing his fingers up Chris’s thigh.  “Drive faster.”

Zach’s apartment feels strange.  He’s packed away his personal things and tomorrow night Chris is going to meet a friend of Zach’s to hand over the keys for a few months of house-sitting.  Noah and Harold are gone, too.  Even the plastered hole has been painted over now.  They did it together one Friday night, although more paint ended up on them than the wall.

“You were teasing me tonight,” Zach says, when they reach the bedroom.

“Yes,” Chris says with a bright smile.  “It was fun to watch.”

Zach smiles back.  “Take your clothes off, Christopher,” he says softly.  “And do it slowly.  Look nervous, like you used to.”

Chris doesn’t have to fake the nervousness.  He can’t stop looking at the knife, still on the nightstand.  They’ve agreed that he’ll take it while Zach is gone.  Zach’s gaze doesn’t leave him for a second as he strips.  His eyes stray from the pale pink lines on Chris’s chest to the finger mark bruises on his hips.

“Will you miss looking like this?” Zach asks.

“Yeah,” Chris says, his heart hurting.  “Yeah, I will.”

“I wanted to leave you some marks to remember me by, at least for a while,” Zach says.  “But everything’s at your place.”  Chris feels so disappointed and annoyed that he wants to sulk.  He _told_ Zach they should keep something here for tonight, but Zach refused.  “Don’t look at me like that,” Zach admonishes.  “I’ll still take care of you.  I always do, don’t I?  Stand up against the wall, facing it.  Hands up, out of the way.”

Chris complies, and feels Zach’s hand against his back, sweeping down into the curve above his ass and then down over his cheeks, squeezing lightly.  “You are so fucking gorgeous,” Zach says, and Chris stops himself from nodding.  He _feels_ gorgeous, like this.

Zach doesn’t even warn him before bringing his hand down, hard, on his ass, and Chris jolts.  Zach hasn’t done this for a while.

“It’s been a while,” Zach says, echoing his thoughts.  _Oh, God_ , Chris thinks.  _He really is a mind reader_.  “But Anton was calling you Captain Spanky all night, so it was hard to resist.”

“Fucking Anton,” Chris snipes, and Zach slaps his ass again.

“What was it you said to me?  ‘Don’t be mean.  Or else!’  Now forget about Anton.”  Chris can hear the laugh in his voice.

“Done,” Chris breathes.

Zach spanks him with increasing force until his ass is kind of numb, and then on fire again, and his dick is rubbing painfully into the wall each time he bucks forward.  Zach moves close behind him, rubbing his jeans into the raw skin.  “Does it hurt?”

“It stings like a bi – _Ow_!” Chris convulses as Zach scratches his nails, hard, into his skin.

This is Zach’s favorite kind of play.  Hands-on and hands-heavy, except for his teeth, and maybe the knife, Chris thinks.  But as he glances to the nightstand, he realizes that it’s gone, and his muscles tense.

Zach scratches up and down his back, slowly dragging his nails until Chris’s breath catches in a whimper.  That’s the noise he’s listening for, and when it comes, Zach starts biting instead.  Unpleasant little nips, sharp pains all across Chris’s shoulders and upper back.  Zach threads his arms around Chris’s torso to pinch unforgiving welts into his flesh, twists at his nipples until Chris yelps and tries to move away.

“Talk,” Zach says.  “I want to hear you try to talk.”

Chris tries to make sentences, but it’s mostly a jumble of _Oh fuck please yes_ with _I love you_ and _Please don’t go_ tangled up around his tongue.  Zach grabs at his dick and slowly, too slowly, rubs it warmly in his hand, until the only noises coming out of Chris’s mouth are approximations of begging.

“Not yet,” Zach says.  “I want my fun too.”  He turns Chris to face him and kisses him.  Chris is pretty sure that panting straight into Zach’s mouth like he’s doing is not particularly sexy, but he can’t help it, and Zach won’t let him go. 

When he does, Chris’s breathing has slowed.  “Remember the first time you sucked me?” Zach asks.  “You wanted to know if you were doing it right.”  He laughs.

“And how did I do?” Chris carefully keeps the petulance out of his voice.

“You made up in effort what you lacked in technique.”

“Well, gee, good to know,” Chris says, before he can stop himself.  He can see Zach doesn’t like his tone.  “S-sorry.”

Thankfully he’s in a generous mood.  “Apology accepted.  But watch yourself.  You _want_ to come, don’t you?”

Chris nods, drops his eyes.  He doesn’t _really_ think Zach would fly to the other side of the country without getting him off, but – Zach is unpredictable.

“Down on your knees,” Zach is saying.  “Show me how much you’ve learned.”  He unzips his jeans, moves them down a little and pulls out his cock, his other hand thumbing at Chris’s mouth.  “Open wide for me.”

Chris still feels like he’s not that great, even after all these months, but Zach’s fingers tightening in his hair and the way he moves his hips forward when Chris moves back suggest that at least he’s doing something right.  He looks up to Zach’s face, sucking on the head of his cock, makes his eyes wide and innocent, and Zach _groans_ , has to close his eyes at the sight.  When he opens them, Chris sticks out his tongue as far as he can, cradling Zach’s length, then swallows him down.

Hearing Zach’s whispered, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” only makes him more eager to please, but he finds himself dragged off by the hair, gasping for air.

“Okay,” Zach says, his breath heavy.  “You _have_ learned some new tricks.”

“There’s this website –”  But Zach puts a finger over his lips to silence him.

“Good boy.”  Zach has that sardonic tone that he uses when Chris has done something _actually_ helpful instead of _intended_ as helpful.  “You’ve earned a reward.  Where would you like to be fucked?  In bed, or here against the wall?”

“Here,” Chris says immediately.  In bed, he might get too emotional.

“Alright,” Zach says, smiling as though he knows.  “You can undress me now, if you like.”

Chris drops to the floor again to start unlacing Zach’s shoes.  Zach is compliant as Chris unbuttons and unzips and untucks; sometimes he likes to make him really work for it, but not tonight.  But before Chris pulls down his jeans, Zach snaps his fingers.

“Oh, right.  I forgot.”  He digs in his pocket, brings out the knife.  “Okay.  Continue.”  Chris stares at it, at Zach’s fingers loosely curling around the handle.  “I said, continue,” Zach reminds him.  “Don’t worry about the knife.  Not yet.”

Chris darts his tongue out across his lips, and tugs at the jeans and briefs, trying to focus on Zach’s cock, hot and curved and shining wet at the tip, instead of the knife.  But it’s always there, on the periphery.  He feels his forehead warm, bead with sweat.

When Zach shoves Chris up against the wall, that’s when he starts worrying.  Zach’s hand is flat on his back, pushing him into the unyielding plaster, and there is something cold and unpleasant between his skin and Zach’s palm: the knife.  Chris holds very still, only moves when Zach moves him.

“Are you scared?” Zach asks in his ear.  Chris can feel the cold knife trailing up his spine.  He can’t tell whether it’s open or closed.  He’s hoping closed.

“Yes,” he says.  “Yes, I am scared.”

“You know I’m not going to cut you.  Not tonight.”

“No.  No, I _don’t_ know.”

Zach wraps his arms around Chris’s chest, immobilizing his arms, the knife – definitely closed, Chris is thankful – hard against his ribs, pushing in against him so that Chris thinks he’ll have a handle-shaped bruise tomorrow.

“I’m not going to.  But I want you to know that I could, if I wanted.”

“I know that,” Chris whispers.

“You take everything from me, Christopher.  You give up so much.”  Zach is still holding him close, but one hand is down between them, pushing inside, making him open up and relax.  “It’s beautiful to watch.”

When he fucks him, Zach lets him go under, fly away to wherever he goes; even Chris isn’t sure.  Zach’s orgasm is obvious because he bites hard; pulls his mouth off before it’s _too_ hard.  When Chris starts coming back to himself, he’s on the bed, and Zach’s mouth is wrapped around his dick.  Zach sucks him down as he shoots, too expert, more expert than Chris thinks he’ll ever be.  But he’s not complaining, and Zach’s not complaining either.

  
***

  
“I thought you would...you know.  Scare me again,” Chris says afterwards.  “Like that time.”

“Yeah.  Then fly off to New York and leave you to pick up the pieces tomorrow.”

“Oh.  Right.  I didn’t think of that.”

“You never really do, Christopher.  Good thing I’m the one in control.”  Zach sounds smug, but Chris can hardly argue with him.

“Yeah, Zachary.  What a blessing,” he says, with only half the sarcasm he would normally use. 

“I forgot,” Zach says suddenly.  “Look what I found.”  He turns on the bedside lamp and reaches for one of the bags on the floor, yanking out some worn papers.  “Remember this?”

Chris looks at it, and starts laughing.  “Yeah.  My kink checklist.”  He flicks through it, slightly embarrassed at his own former naïveté.  “You weren’t very interested in it, as I recall.  Why’d you keep it?”

“Of course I was interested.  And I think we’ve covered most of your picks,” Zach says, scooting closer to read beside him.  “Not that one, though–”  He points.  “That would be interesting.”

“I didn’t even know what it _was_ when I chose it,” Chris groans, covering his face with a hand.

“You’re adorable.”

“You never filled one out.  You said you would.”

“I said I’d _think_ about it.  But as it happens, I did do one.”  He turns the pages over and Chris can see that Zach has handwritten out his own list on the back, next to neatly blocked squares, each checked precisely in the centre.

Every line of the list is an iteration of Chris’s name: Christopher Pine, C. W. Pine, Captain Fine, goddamn Captain Spanky –

“ _Princess Whitelaw_?” Chris snarls, outraged.

“Some of my friends saw it on the internet and started calling you that.”  Zach smirks; tries to hide it.

“ _Which_ friends?”

Zach shakes his head.  “No way, Pine.  I don’t need you getting yourself in trouble while I’m away.”

“This isn’t a kink list, anyway,” Chris snaps.  “It’s just – me.”

But Zach simply smiles.

They lie content for a while.  “So, what are you going to do?” Chris asks later.  “You can’t go long without it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can go maybe three weeks, max, before you need it again.  This stuff.  That’s the only reason I suggested the clubs.  I was trying to help.”

“Um.  I went from Tokyo to you punching a hole in my wall,” Zach says.  “That was a lot longer than three weeks.”

“Oh.  Oh, yeah.”  Chris has forgotten about that.

“I’ve lived with it for my whole life.  I’m used to it.  Also – you still don’t get it?”

“What?”

“It’s _you_.  You make me kind of…It’s not as bad when you’re not around.  It’s still there, but it’s not so bad.  Easier for me to handle.”

Chris stares.  “Me – I – what?”

Zach laughs.  “I’m not trying to blame you or anything.  You just – push my buttons, even when you don’t mean to.  You just take it so well.  So _much_.  It’s kind of…frightening.”

“But I thought –”

“Christopher, you think too much.”

“Huh.”  Chris lies back down, looking at the ceiling.  “Well.  Okay.  Does that mean you’ll go easy on me when I come visit you in New York?”

“Not on your life, Pine.”

  
***

  
Chris wakes up the next morning when Zach clambers on top of him, tugging down the sheets from his body.

“What are you doing?” he asks the pillow sleepily.

“I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” Zach replies, and continues tugging.  “Nice ass, though.  Don’t need eloquence with an ass like that, do you?”

Chris forces himself awake.  Zach has _that tone_ in his voice, that hyperactive, slightly manic tone that usually precedes something – not good.

“What are you doing?” he demands again.  He feels something damp and cold on his skin, and bucks on the bed in surprise.  “Zach!”

“Something to remember me by,” Zach says, holding Chris down firmly with one hand in the middle of his shoulders.  He’s finished in seconds, and throws something on the pillow next to Chris’s face.

Chris gives a muffled curse.  “Zach, come _on_.  We agreed.  _No more sharpies_.” 

But Zach is laughing.  Chris twists and tries to see, but can’t.  Zach relents and hands him a shaving mirror.

Chris stares for a minute or two, at the thick, black _ZQ_ written on his left butt cheek.  It’s small enough and low down enough so that it will be hidden.  Zach is delighted with himself.

“It’ll come off, eventually,” Chris says, trying to dampen him.

“You’re going to replace it every couple of days so it doesn’t.”

“I am?”

“Yes.  And I’ll check up on you, too.  When you least expect it.  So you’d better be good and do as I say.  I will be demanding photographic evidence.”

Chris smiles.  “Okay.  I’ll be good.”  He stretches, his cock thick against the sheets.  It’s pleasant.  He wants time to slow down.  “Did I say anything when I was under?”  He always asks these days.  Most of the time Zach says he was quiet, but sometimes –

“Yes.”  But Zach distracts him before he can ask for specifics.  It’s only later, once Zach is really gone and Chris is walking listlessly around the apartment, checking for any last things he should take back to his place, that he sees a sheet of paper on the kitchen counter, with the sharpie lying across it.

 _It was Eliot_.  It’s Zach’s neat but slanted handwriting, spiking up like it wants to crawl off the page but is kept too tightly confined.

 _My friend, blood shaking my heart  
The awful daring of a moment's surrender  
Which an age of prudence can never retract  
By this, and this only, we have existed_

 _It won’t be too long.  Remember to use the sharpie!!_   
_\- ZQ_

“You do not fucking cry, Pine,” Chris says.


End file.
